


Let Me Sleep

by piratesloveparrots



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, PTSD Moran
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 06:55:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4469555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piratesloveparrots/pseuds/piratesloveparrots





	Let Me Sleep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mortwinbeauty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mortwinbeauty/gifts).



The muscular frame of Sebastian Moran lays stretched out face down on the plush king sized bed they share. His hulking arms are curled up under the pillow under his face and two little earbuds are nestled in, his way of trying to avoid the PTSD symptoms in the middle of his sleep. He has a playlist just for that. Sleep. Something that seems to elude him. He wears the earbuds so that he doesn't disturb Moriarty. That man's mind always working and Moran doesn't like to interrupt him.

A little endearing quality about Moran: the large, hulking man's foot always sought out his lover's foot in his sleep. Not something Moran has ever noticed himself upon waking in the past several years of their relationship, and not something Moriarty has ever brought up. Just a little unconscious thing Moran's body seeks out for comfort while he fitfully sleeps. Moriarty knows that should the soldier's foot not feel his the man would awaken immediately.

This morning however, the diminutive criminal mastermind stays in bed long after he wakes so that his foot is there to comfort the rumbling tiger in bed next to him. Moran's breathing evens and his eyes slowly slide open as the first hint of color stains the sky on the horizon through their windows. His eyes are bloodshot and the skin around the corners of them crinkle slightly. He never says anything to Moriarty first thing when he wakes, but then again he never has to. Moriarty's eyes and mind are too sharp to hide anything from.

Moran slept about four hours this time. A personal record. As he takes out the earbuds and turns off the playlist his muscle movements betray him and practically yell at Moriarty that this lack of decent sleep is slowly killing him. He'll never say anything about it.

He scrubs his fingers through his sleep mussed hair and slips out of their bed, wearing only the comfy boxers in which he sleeps. He stalks across the room on silent feet and grabs his cigarettes and lighter before stepping out onto the balcony of their penthouse flat. Sliding the glass door shut behind him doesn't hide what he's doing from Moriarty's sight, but will at least keep out the offending smell. He lights one up and inhales deeply, the smoke filling his lungs as he tries to shake off whatever nightmare his subconscious mind had for him this time. After a moment he leans over and rests his elbows on the rail of the balcony. His mind wanders as London below languidly comes to life. His muscles relax one by one as the nicotine courses through his system.

Yes, the lack of sleep isn't the only thing that's killing him. This morning he's grateful that Moriarty isn't reminding him of that fact.


End file.
